


Memories of a King

by Polly_P



Category: Fate/Zero, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Action/Adventure, Drama, Gen, Historical, Swords & Sorcery, Tragedy, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-30
Updated: 2014-04-05
Packaged: 2017-12-28 01:38:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/986125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polly_P/pseuds/Polly_P
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by the "King's Memories" chapters from the Visual Novel "Fate/Stay Night" by Nasu Kinoko.<br/>Centered around Saber ( Arturia Pendragon ), but also focusing on other Arthurian characters who make an appearance in the Nasuverse, as well as many other characters from the Arthurian legends.</p><p>It is the late 5th century, and Britain is being torn apart by chaos. Following the departure of the Roman military and administration at the beginning of the century, the country was plunged into a never-ending spiral of war and destruction. The barbarian Saxon hordes are encroaching upon the land and the Britons, divided into countless petty kingdoms and clans, are fighting one civil war after another and the destruction of their homeland seem inevitable at this point.<br/>In this time of crisis and chaos, a child is born to the King of the Britons, Uther Pendragon, who had yearned for a successor in order to prolong his dynasty and consolidate his rule over Britain. However, Fate decided to play a cruel trick on the High King...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**PROLOGUE**

The noise on the streets of Londinium was louder than ever on that particular day of March. The year was 407 CE and the Roman military in the province of Britannia was on the move. Only a few months ago, on the last day of the previous year, the barbarian hordes from Germania had crossed the frozen river Rhine, taking the outnumbered defenders of the Roman _Limes_ completely by surprise. After they had overwhelmed the border defences, the barbarian tribes proceeded to devastate and pillage across the length and breadth of Gaul; the weakened Roman Empire was powerless to stop them, as most of its remaining forces were tied up elsewhere, defending the long and vulnerable borders from numerous other incursions by the attacking barbarians.  
Emperor Stilicho had stripped Britannia of much of its military forces back in 402 in order to bolster his own army in his wars against the Visigoths and Ostrogoths. Because of this, the fortifications along the Hadrian's Wall had to be abandoned, and the barbarian raids and incursions against civilian property had become commonplace in the north of the province.

All of this contributed to the chaos and uncertainty amongst the people of Britannia, and once the contact with Rome was severed by the barbarians from Germania, the army decided that they'd had enough and they took the matters into their own hands. Finding themselves cut off from the rest of the Empire and with an attack by the Germanic tribes across the sea being very likely, the Roman military in Britannia revolted and dispensed with the imperial authority. The troops had been waging endless bloody campaigns against the Picts and the Scots in the north for many years, and hadn't received their pay for almost five years.  
The army was practically a band of mercenaries, loyal not to a military code of honour, or some distant emperor in Rome, nor to the country they were ordered to protect - they wanted to be payed for their services as warriors and thus sought a commander who would secure their future by leading them to victory and rewarding them with plentiful spoils of war.

The first two aspiring candidates for the position of a leader of this new independent army did not meet the criteria of the soldiers, and were promptly disposed of. The third and final choice of the troops was one of their own, a common soldier by the name of Constantine, who was recognised by his fellow men for his considerable abilities as a fighter and a leader and thus became a newly-appointed general of all the Roman military forces in Britannia. An ambitious and greedy man, Constantine decided not to bother with the defence of the island country that he and his troops had guarded for so many years, and instead sought to pursue glory on the battlefields of Gaul, in the hopes of uniting the scattered remains of the Empire in the West.  
And this is why the streets of Londinium were noisier than usual.

The air was filled with the rattling, metallic sound of thousands of horseshoes, laced boots, and caligae treading the gravel-covered city streets and shields and spears chafing against the armour, and all the other noises that usually permeated the streets were now suppressed by the hurried march of the legionnaires.  
The rumours that had been going around for the last few weeks were now confirmed to be true – the troops were leaving Britain, and Londinium was to be their last stop before they boarded the ships and sailed down the river and towards Gaul. The privileged soldiers and officers were to take quarters in the city's numerous inns and public houses, while the rest of the army set camp outside the city. Many people gathered in the streets and squares to watch this majestic, yet depressing, procession – almost four hundred years ago the Romans invaded this island with a huge force, and native Celtic tribes yielded to the overwhelming might of the unstoppable Roman war machine. The city of Londinium was founded in the same year the invasion took place, and its wide streets and majestic public buildings were a testament to the glory and wealth of the Empire.

But now, the situation was reverse – the temples and palaces of Londinium were in a decrepit state due to decades of economic downturn and neglect on the side of the authorities; a sad symbol of the collapse of the Roman Empire as a whole. The exhausted remains of the Roman army, many of them barbarian or native auxiliaries rather than actual Romans, were retreating from this furthest province of the Empire, leaving the defenceless Britons to their fate at the hands of the invading barbarians. Unlike the children, who were thrilled at the sight of infantrymen clad in mail armour and cavalry officers with their long capes and golden helmets, the older citizens of this proud city shuddered at the thought of being left without any military protection.

The departure of troops also meant the complete collapse of Roman civilisation and civic way of life, for the resources needed to maintain the civil services and public buildings would have to be redirected towards defence against the invaders, who were sure to flock in even greater numbers once they learn of the army's departure. And that was still no guarantee that the defence would be successful. So it was no wonder that the troops were greeted by cold stares of contempt, fear, and anger – the stares of the people who knew that they were being left to their doom, were unable to do anything about it, and yet had to provide lodgings and supplies for this selfish army. Indeed, the silence of the citizens of Londinium was more deafening than the sounds of the soldiers marching down the streets.

The morning after the first troops arrived to Londinium, a second detachment of the Roman forces approached the city. As it could provide no more lodgings for the soldiers, the new troops had to set camp outside the city walls alongside those from the previous group, and the fields to the west of the city were dotted by thousands of tents, shacks, and makeshift stables – a whole new town in its own right.  
The morning was cold and the soldiers lit countless fires to both warm themselves and cook some food to recuperate from a three-day long forced march from the north, shrouding the entire camp in smoke. Coupled with the coldness of the air, a thin layer of unexpected frost that had covered the ground over the course of the previous night, and the unusual eerie silence amongst the soldiers ( caused in equal measure by the weariness after the march and the uncertainty of the upcoming campaign in Gaul ), the entire scene was quite surreal and all the more stranger to behold for the citizens of Londinium who had gathered on the city walls to gaze at this rare and unexpected sight.

Through this maze of improvised quarters, stashes of spears and shields, stacks of hay for the livestock, and scattered groups of tired and ragged men gathered around small heaps of charcoal, three cloaked riders were slowly making their way towards the city gates. One of them was small, hunched, and the clothes he wore underneath his black cloak were only a step above the rags of the homeless beggars that roamed the streets of Londinium. His horse wasn't in a much better condition than its rider.  
The other two men were a stark contrast to the first– not only were their horses strong, trimmed and obviously well-fed, but they wore armour and insignia of the Roman army. Richly decorated breastplates and belts, comfortable and well-stuffed boots that were hard to find in the army these days, and ornamented sheaths for their swords rather than simple leather ones for the common soldiers – all these things indicated that the two men were not just regular cavalrymen, but rather some very highly ranked army officers.

The two men did put some effort into concealing their attire by wearing long and thick hooded cloaks, but they still attracted some attention from the few people that were on the streets at this early hour.

The two officers were following the third man's lead as he was navigating his way down the streets and alleyways of Londinium. Thankfully, the grid layout of the Roman city was easy to navigate and they reached their destination within minutes. The building in front of which they stopped was not much of a sight to behold – a regular two-story tavern, with drinking and eating space on the ground level and sleeping quarters on the first floor. Just one out of dozens of similar establishments in the city. But the three men didn't come here in search for lodgings or food.

"He's here?" one of the officers asked their guide.

"Yes. I sent him a message two weeks ago and told him to meet me here."

"Did he reply to confirm?"

"Of course he did. He said he'll come. Or do you think I'd bring you here if I wasn't sure he'll be here too?" the little man retorted, somewhat irritated.

"Hmm..."

The officer didn't really trust this little freak of a man, but he decided not to argue any further, as it would be fruitless. The man didn't have anything to gain by tricking them, so he decided to suppress his usual distrust and skepticism towards strangers for the time being. The ones selling miracles were on the lowest possible level in his eyes, but if his commander decided to trust him, then he would obey.

"Shall we, Sire?" he asked his companion.

"Yes. Let's go" the man replied.

The three dismounted, tied their horses by the roadside and entered the tavern. The sight wasn't very welcoming. The ceiling was low, and a particularly tall man would have to hunch in order to move around. Three small windows and two equally small oil-lamps were the only sources of light in the room, so the place was in a sort of half-light that made it seem as if every time of the day was dusk. The originally white walls were gray from the accumulated smoke and soot coming from a small hearth in the corner of the room.  
The officer, named Marcus, also noticed traces of moisture at the corners and near the ceiling. And yet, despite being such a shabby and unwelcoming place, the tavern was noisy, full of people and activity. There were about a dozen tables in total plus a pair of large benches, most of them already taken. The customers were diverse; half of them were soldiers who took lodgings here, the other half a mixture of merchants, clerks and various craftsmen. They were served by two young women, presumably the daughters of the innkeeper; he himself was nowhere to be seen.

"Over there" the midget guide said to his two companions, pointing at the table in the far corner of the inn. "In that corner".

The three men removed the hoods of their cloaks and made their way across the room and towards the table situated by one of the small windows. It was occupied by a single customer who, having finished his meal, was leaning on the table with his left hand pressed against his chin and was gazing absentmindedly through the window.  
The few faint rays of sunlight that managed to make their way through the dim and dirty glass were illuminating the man's face. He appeared to be middle-aged, probably in his early thirties, but whose face was a testament to a harsh life he must have led. He was bald and clean-shaven, the skin on his cheeks was rough from the cold winds and winters of Britain, and there was a long and deep horizontal scar on his left cheek, one that only a knife or a sword would leave. His cold gray eyes seemed empty at first glance, but were capable of piercing anyone who looked into them with a stare that made one feel uncomfortable; as if the man was able to read your every thought and feeling just by locking his gaze with yours. All in all, a bit intimidating face.

As the three companions approached the table, the man snapped out of his pondering and turned his gaze towards these newcomers. He immediately recognised the small one that had led the two officers.

"Long time, no see, old boy", the man said with a weak smile.

"Long time indeed, my friend. Hope you're doing well."

"No worse than usual. But I hope your visit might improve my fortunes." The man produced a small piece of parchment from his coat and put in on the table as the midget seated himself at the table opposite him. The two Roman officers were still standing.

"Haven't heard from you for months, and then you suddenly write to me, talking of a job. What's going on?"

"Does that mean you're accepting it?"

"Well, a man can't live from air and sunshine alone, but before I say yes..." said the man, turning his eyes to the two officers, "I'd like to know what is it that I'm getting involved in."

The officers exchanged a look, nodded and finally seated themselves at the table. The one to speak first was the officer Marcus:

"My name is Marcus Cantius, a _tribunus_ of the Roman Army. My companion is General Constantine III, the supreme commander of all the Roman military forces in Britannia."

The man, Constantine, nodded in confirmation and placed his left hand on the table. It was adorned by a single large golden ring bearing the mark of the legions – a Roman eagle – that was only carried by the military commanders of the highest rank.  
The fourth man narrowed his eyes and stared at the Roman general in distrust. After a few long moments of silence, he finally moved and spoke to Constantine in a sleek and ironic tone, not bothering to hide his sneer while talking to the man.

"So, what can a humble commoner such as myself do for such a noble gentleman, _General_?"  
Marcus didn't miss the mocking way he pronounced the last word, and wanted to repay the man for his insolence, but Constantine didn't seem to notice or mind the man's tone.

"Well, I hope that calling yourself a 'humble commoner' is nothing more than false modesty, for I am in a need for a man of special skills." the general retorted.

"Special skills?"

"Yes. I need someone skilled in the ways of magic. I need... a wizard."

After another short period of silence, Constantine continued.  
"Your friend" he said, pointing at the midget, "told me that he knows one such person. A great sorcerer, he said, who could easily solve my problem. I trusted him, and he brought us to you. Are you really a wizard, mister...?"

The man sneered at Constantine again, but this time it was a little less malicious. At least the conversation seemed to intrigue him. After all, it's not everyday that a general comes to ask for a special service.

"Merlin", he replied. "Call me Merlin."

"Well then, Merlin, are you interested in the job I have for you?"

"I'd lie if I were to say that I'm not, having a customer of such calibre, but are you willing to pay the price for my services?"

"The price shouldn't be a problem. I can give you all the money you want."

"I didn't say that the price will be in gold and silver. Only after I've heard your request can I determine the appropriate compensation for my efforts. It all depends on you and your request."

It was Constantine's turn to be suspicious now. The man in front of him wasn't just after the money, and it made him feel uneasy. He wasn't thrilled about dealing with Merlin first and knowing what the price would be afterwards. But he didn't have much choice.

"Very well. I give you my word that you will be compensated in any way you wish, as long as it is within my power to do so."

"Alright, then, let's hear your request."

(...)

Later that day, Merlin was walking slowly along the muddy and marshy banks of the river Thames to the east of the city, lost in his thoughts. The meeting he had this morning with the Roman general Constantine had entertained him greatly; he found out for sure, and much to his amusement, that human arrogance really knew no bounds.

The ambitious general wanted to make his name in Gaul and eventually maybe even rise to the position of an Emperor, but he wasn't willing to completely give up on Britain just yet. Confident that he would emerge victorious from his campaign on the Continent, he intended to return to this island and claim it back once his quest for power had been completed. Not out of goodness of his heart or the concern for the population that was being left to their doom, of course. Constantine felt no emotional attachment to Britain, but he still wished to possess and rule it – after all, if one's ultimate goal is power and wealth, then it's only natural to wish to extend one's domain as much as possible.

But as arrogant as he might have been, Constantine wasn't _completely_ stupid. He knew that he wouldn't be able to hold on to Britain once he has departed for Gaul along with all the troops stationed on the island, and he knew that as soon as they were gone, the country will fracture into a thousand little fiefdoms, and the barbarians from the north and from Germania would only make the situation more chaotic. Internal struggles between warring states and clans would tear the country apart and a prolonged and bloody warfare would be the only means of uniting the former province into a single country again, and Constantine wanted to avoid that. That's why he needed a miracle.

He found out that there was a powerful and skilled sorcerer in Britain, and the rumour was that he could perform any kind of witchcraft and make miracles come true. Although he was very skeptical of such rumours at first, after he came across someone who claimed to know the wizard personally, he decided to give it a try. As he couldn't see any other way to solve his problem, he rested his hopes on a miracle. At least there wasn't anything for him to lose. So he devised a plan.

"He is quite an imaginative man", Merlin had to admit as he watched the ships moored in the port of Londinium being loaded with supplies for the upcoming voyage, "even if he is a complete fool."

The plan that Constantine came up with was this: if he were to one day return to Britain, he needed the people to embrace and acknowledge him as the rightful ruler of the country, for without the support of the people he couldn't hope to gain the upper hand against the warlords and dukes he would challenge for supremacy. A miraculous symbol of his right to rule over the country was needed for him to have legitimacy in the eyes of the people, and the weaker lords would probably ally with someone wielding such authority rather than opposing him. So even if his military forces weren't enough to retake the country all by themselves, a miracle would make it possible.

The miracle itself was simple – drawing a sword from the stone.

When he was but a common soldier, Constantine met, talked to, and befriended many Germanic people who served in the army as auxiliary troops and mercenaries. Just as the legionnaires introduced these barbarians to the Roman customs and ways of life, the barbarians from Germania shared their own native culture and traditions with the Roman troops. This way the soldier Constantine learned bits of their legends and folklore, among other things.  
The legend he liked the most was that of the warrior who drew the sword of the Gods from a tree. No other man but that warrior could draw the sword, and upon pulling it out, the sword was given to the man as a gift, and he went on to accomplish many great deeds with it. The legend originated in the far northern parts of Germania, and was passed down for many generations before the migrating Germanic tribes brought it to the Roman Empire along with them.

Merlin had heard of this legend too, having traveled to Germania twice over the course of the last decade, but as far as he knew, that's all it was – a legend. Not that it mattered to either him or Constantine whether the warrior and the sword in the tree were real or not; what mattered was their legend. With his magic, Merlin was to put a special spell upon a sword provided by Constantine, and would put the sword into a stone somewhere in or outside the city on the day of the departure. The spell would prevent anyone but Constantine to pull the sword out of the stone, and people had to be told of the sword's magical properties. Upon his triumphal return, Constantine would draw the sword and claim his right as the supreme ruler of all Britain, and the people would bow before such a miracle.

"Honestly, what a fool!" Merlin chuckled.  
When he first learned of his customer's identity from the officer Marcus, he was furious at the man who was leaving Britain to ruin without batting an eye, but the more he learned of the general and his wish, the more he entertained and amused him.

Just how stupid did the general think these people were? Granted, they were largely ignorant and superstitious, but to expect them to forget that it was that same general who had left their country to chaos and destruction, and to expect them to bow to him just because he drew a sword no one else could? The Roman general must have lost his touch with the reality after he had risen to power overnight.

"A sword that only a worthy man can pull out, huh? A sword that would make him king."  
Oh, how he wanted to use his wish against him and blow the general's endless arrogance and conceit back into his face. What a sight it would be to behold – no matter how many years he would have to wait for it, to see his bewildered and confused face once he tried to pull the sword out but failed... seeing that face would be the greatest reward.  
One cannot rule over the hearts of the people with magic, and drawing a magical sword from the stone wouldn't help a man like Constantine regain control over Britain.

"But in the hands of the right person, of a righteous man..."

Merlin was surprised at himself; this same thought came to his mind back at the inn when the general made his request. The foolishness of the man's wish was apparent to him at once, there was no need to ponder over it any further. But the idea itself had stuck in Merlin's mind. "In the hands of a righteous man..." A righteous man.

Constantine wasn't the right person to rule Britain, _that_ was obvious to anyone. The miracle of a magical sword would be wasted on a man like him. But if there was someone truly worthy of ruling, then such a miracle would be very useful, and it would make it easier for the man to unite the country that was sure to fall apart as soon as the Roman ships crossed the sea.  
If there _were_ such a worthy man somewhere, then the Roman general's foolish wish might actually prove to be useful and serve a greater purpose than as a mere prank aimed at the conceited general.

Well, it wasn't that Merlin didn't love his country, and if there was a way to save it from the destruction it was heading to then he was willing to try - but he was not a naive dreamer either. Turning back towards the city, he was still contemplating what to do.

He ended up walking around the city for the rest of the day. With his hands behind his back, he wandered around the busy city streets aimlessly. One moment he would decide to "grant" the general's wish and trick him, the other to use the opportunity and one day select a proper king with the sword, only to decide not to bother with any of it a few minutes later.  
Constantly torn apart between the choices, he suddenly realised that the sun had already set and that it was getting really dark. He told the general that he'll need a day to think about his request and determine an appropriate compensation. They were to meet at that inn again once the sun had set. But after an entire day of thinking, he still couldn't decide.

"Well, I guess a little bit of waiting is a small price for a miracle" he told himself as he turned around and made his way towards the inn.

(...)

The inn was full and even livelier than it was in the morning. After a hard day's work, many people decided to brighten up their lives in the tavern through the magic of food, ale and wine. Additional chairs had been brought by the innkeeper to provide for all the extra customers; the lodgers were now only a small minority among the people gathered at the inn. The gloomy future didn't seem to bother the blacksmiths and carpenters who were toasting to something as they started to drink their second round of ale.

It didn't take long for Merlin to find his company – they were seated at the same table where they had met him in the morning. Approaching the table, Merlin could tell that the officer Marcus was slightly agitated and it wasn't difficult for him to guess why.

"Good evening, gentlemen." he said to the three men who were sipping their wine in silence. He was almost an hour late.

"You're late!" replied Marcus, unnerved by Merlin's nonchalant greeting.

"Yes. Yes I am."

Marcus was dumbstruck for a moment by such a straightforward answer, and Constantine took the opportunity to speak to Merlin. Unlike his companion, who got unnerved at the sight of the insolent latecomer, the general breathed a sigh of relief when Merlin finally showed up. For a while he was afraid that the wizard won't even come, which could only be interpreted as refusing to grant his wish. This way, there was still hope.

"I don't usually take kindly to those who show up so late, wizard. I am a man of the army after all. But I'll make an exception for you this time."

"Well, beggars can't be choosers, general."

"Indeed. So, what have you decided? Will you do as I ask?"

If he were to be honest, Merlin would have to answer "I don't know".  
While he was walking back to the inn, he decided to clear his thoughts. The general's request bugged him much more than he expected, and the idea that was formed in his head was something he never thought he'd even think of – indeed, he had a hard time admitting to himself that such a foolish thought would even cross his mind at this point in life.  
He eventually got angry at himself for that, and decided to push _all_ of his thoughts about the general's request out of his head. He was able to relax for a short while, and by the time he had entered the inn he had forgotten all about it. As far as he was concerned, he came there to have a nice drink with an old friend and his two companions. General's question suddenly brought him back to reality.

Having to think about it again agitated him greatly. He was tired and wanted to get done with it all as soon as possible and return to his normal life. 'To hell with it!' Merlin thought and decided not to bother about what will come later. 'I might as well get a little fun out of this entire charade.'

"Yeah, I'll do what you want." he said with a faint smirk.

"Excellent!" Constantine exclaimed. He was visibly relieved and happy upon hearing Merlin's words.  
"I'm really glad you've agreed to take part in this."

"Pleasure's all mine, general." Merlin replied, barely managing to hold back a chuckle.  
Constantine's boyish enthusiasm entertained him a lot. This man might be a capable warrior and a good tactician, but he was foolish and horrible at reading people. He would never make a good politician.

"We have to make a toast! You there, girl!" the general called for one of the girls who were serving customers at the table next to them.

"Yes, mister. How may I serve you?" the girl asked tenderly.

"Bring us more wine. The best you have, and an extra cup for this man!"

"Right away, mister!"

As the girl hurried to fetch the wine, Constantine turned to Merlin again.

"I am very thankful that you're so willing and understanding. So, in what way shall I repay you, Merlin?"

Another thing he didn't decide upon. Actually, he didn't really think about it at all.  
"I don't know. I haven't decided what I'd want."

"Then I'll reward you the best way I can. After this is done, you'll probably be the richest man in all of Britain! How about it?"

"Hmm..." Gold and precious stones never interested Merlin a lot. He had his own ways to obtain money, and he didn't really need much money anyway.

"Come on Merlin!" his midget friend urged him, "you can't honestly tell me you'd refuse such an offer?!"

"I really can't. Well, how about this general – I'll think about it until the designated day, and if I can't think of anything by then, then I'll gladly take your gold."

"Excellent. I am glad that we have reached an agreement. Three days from now, we shall be leaving Britain. I will keep in touch with you until then. After you've fulfilled your end of the bargain, I'll give you your reward. I give you my word as a Roman general."

Merlin grinned again, but the general didn't notice.

"Now, man, let us shake hands to seal our deal like gentlemen." Constantine said, reaching out to Merlin.

"Gladly" he replied. This general kept amusing him.

As they grabbed each other's hands, a cold shiver suddenly went down Merlin's spine and he froze for a moment.

"Is something wrong?" Constantine asked. Merlin's thoughts wandered off for a split second.

"No, no, everything's fine" he replied as he came back to his senses.

Two of them exchanged a strong and hearty handshake, and just as they let go of each others' hand the girl returned with their drinks. Constantine raised his cup of wine and proposed a toast:

"Gentlemen – for a bright future!"

Other three men raised their cups as well.

"For a bright future!" Marcus and the midget exclaimed, while Merlin just murmured the words in a quiet voice. But no one noticed.  
They emptied their cups and ordered another round. The four spent the rest of the evening drinking and chatting merrily and Constantine in particular was very talkative, speaking with enthusiasm about his future plans. Merlin, on the other hand, was mostly silent and seemed somewhat dispirited throughout the evening. Something bothered him again.

(...)

Two nights later, Merlin was lying fully awake in his bed, staring at the ceiling of a small room which he rented when he first arrived to Londinium three days ago. No matter how much he wanted it, he could not fall asleep for even a minute. Magic-induced sleep was always an option, but he hated using it for such trifles, and besides, that would be a cheat in a battle against his own mind. A battle he had to win one way or the other.

But no matter how much he tried to push these unwanted thoughts out of his head, every time he got close to clearing his mind, the presence of a certain object in his room reminded him of the problem at hand, and he'd be thrust into a spiral of doubt and questioning once more.  
The said object was a sword.

It wasn't a normal, regular _spatha_ which the legions used, nor a Celtic longsword that was widely used by the barbarian auxiliaries and even the native Britons. Its blade was roughly the same length as an average _spatha_ , but the hilt was much longer, 8 inches in total and clearly tailored for two handed use. The elaborate and detailed decorations that adorned both the hilt and the blade would make it apparent to everyone who'd see the sword that was not a weapon to be used in combat – it was a ceremonial sword, an ornamental item that served as a proof of power and royalty.

The grip of the hilt was dyed blue and a small pearl was embedded in the pommel. While the normal _spatha_ only had a minimal guard at the top of the hilt, this sword had a prominent and gilded cross-guard with further decorations.

The central ridge of the blade also seemed gilded, but the most striking and most richly ornamented part of the sword was the 6-inches long portion of the blade directly under the cross-guard, the part that was merely a naked blade on every other sword – but not on this one. On one side of the sword it was decorated with a beautiful pattern of blue and gold, and graced by yet another small precious stone. But the even more important and unusual was the same part of the blade on the opposite side of the sword. On this side it was a flat silver surface with a thin golden frame. A text was engraved on the blade in golden letters.  
The text, written in the native language of the Britons, rather than Latin, was as follows:

"Whosoever pulleth out this sword of this stone shall be the rightwise king of all Britain".

The wording was suggested by Merlin himself during his meeting with the general two days ago, when he agreed to take part in this little endeavour. Constantine liked it, and the finished sword was brought to him on the following day so that he could perform his magic. But that was not needed – he only needed a moment to cast his spell, and he would do it when he inserts the sword in the stone.

The troops were leaving the next day at noon and this was the night during which he had to take the sword to the designated place and put it in the stone that Constantine had arranged to be brought there. Since the storm of his conflicting thoughts promised him no rest, he suddenly sprang out of bed, grabbed the sword, wrapped it in some cloth that was lying by the bedside, and left his room and the inn.  
Walking hurriedly down the mostly deserted city streets, he headed to where the stone was. It was near the edge of a large meadow to the north of the city, not far from the now abandoned and ruined amphitheatre and a stone's throw away from the edge of the forest. The stone was a slab of sandstone, one foot high, three feet wide and two feet long.

No decorations, runes or reliefs adorned it, but one word was carved into the stone on the frontal side, facing westwards: "CALIBVRN".

It was the name given to the sword by the Roman general.

Merlin approached the stone and unwrapped the sword. It was a truly beautiful piece of craftsmanship that could probably withstand blows from even the hardest and sturdiest blades, despite its ceremonial and ornamental nature. However, what occupied Merlin's thoughts weren't the rich decorations, but the words imprinted on the blade.

_Whoever pulls this sword from the stone shall be the rightful king of all Britain._

Two days ago, as he was asked by Constantine what his answer was, Merlin quickly made up his mind and decided to pull a prank on him. The spell he'd put on the sword would not allow anyone to pull it out of the stone, including the arrogant general. Constantine's face when he failed to accomplish the feat would be the pay he wished for.  
However, he had to abandon that plan after he shook hands with the general.

For as long as he could remember, Merlin had the ability to see the future. Well, it wasn't simply seeing the outcome or predicting the future as he pleases. It was much less useful than that. From time to time, under various circumstances, he saw visions of the future. They were mostly very short, merely brief flashes of things to come, and they rarely contained any specific details. As the years passed, he got better and better at interpreting these confusing visions, and had accepted this ability that was both a gift and a curse.

As he grabbed the general's hand, one such vision assaulted him, and it didn't take him long to figure out its meaning – he was shaking hands with a dead man. Constantine would never return to this island from his campaign in Gaul. Instead, he would end up just the way Merlin himself predicted when he first met him and heard his wish – his ambitions would amount to nothing and he would die only a few years from now. So, his own wish to make a fool out of Constantine through his wish would not be granted either.

Standing next to the stone, Merlin was at a loss about what to do. The idea that was conceived in his head two days ago would still not leave him. He could use this sword to select and empower a person who's fit to rule Britain. But seeking such a person was a long and arduous journey with no promise of results, a journey he wasn't too eager to embark upon at this point in life and with his current mindset and experiences. Chasing such a dream would be foolish. It'd be much simpler to just put the sword in the stone and leave it there for all eternity.

Still unable to make up his mind, Merlin suddenly heard a faint noise and turned around. A few feet from him were two small children, a boy and a girl. Neither of them could have been more than 8 years old, and they were both dressed in dirty rags.

'Orphans' Merlin realised 'Street urchins.' They were quite pitiful to behold.  
The children and the wizard kept staring at each other for a while, until Merlin finally broke the silence:

"What do you kids want? What are you waiting for?"

"I dunno." The little boy replied, looking at the beautiful sword in Merlin's hands. "Something miraculous I guess."

"Will you make something amazing happen?" the girl asked.

"I..." the words stopped in Merlin's throat.

'What should I do? What do I want to do?'  
There were two paths in front of him then, neither of them very appealing. But the two children who had followed him all the way there kept staring at him with their large, dark eyes, demanding an answer.

"I..."  
He had to make a choice.

'...'

And then he did. He finally made a decision.

"I can't make anything truly amazing happen. But someone else can."

He said so to the two curious children and turned to the stone. He took the sword Caliburn in his right hand and raised it over the stone.

No special incantation was needed for a magus as powerful as him.

He lowered his hand and put the spell upon the sword. __  
  
'Let no man pull this sword out of this stone unless it deems them worthy. Let them try and fail until I find a man deserving of this sword!' He could feel an enormous swirl of prana flowing through his Magic Circuits, down the hilt and the blade and into the stone. Once the first part of his magic had been completed, he put another spell upon the sword.  
  
'Let my impure blood give the one who pulls out this sword the part of my power. May they never age from the moment this sword is set free, so that they may rule over these lands for many years and bring this troubled land the prosperity and peace it craves!'

As the magic was cast and the sword lowered into the stone, a thunder suddenly pierced the dark skies and broke the silence of the cold night.  
Even if it wasn't anything particularly flashy and impressive, when he turned around, Merlin could see that the two children were most satisfied by his performance. Honest smiles of excitement and adoration had brightened up their dirty faces at the sight of Merlin's trick with the sword and the thunder.

"That was indeed miraculous, Mister!" the girl said earnestly.

"No.", he said smiling and shaking his head. "A true miracle will be pulling that sword out."

"Can you pull it back out?" the boy asked him.

Merlin smiled again, and realized that he hadn't smiled this much in a long time. Then, he answered: 

"No, I'm not worthy. But I will find someone who is."

He said so and then headed back towards the city, along with the two orphans.

(...)

The next day the Roman troops left Britain for good.  
The magical sword that no one could pull out was found soon after, and the bishop of Londinium interpreted it as a miracle from God. On Merlin's instructions, of course.

General Constantine III enjoyed several early victories in his campaign in Gaul and was even recognised as a co-emperor by the Emperor Honorius in 409. However, his luck was not to last, and the tide of war turned against him soon enough. He was betrayed and forced to surrender to his opponents. Constantine III was executed in the year 411.

As expected, Britain was plunged into a long period of chaos once the Roman army left, and thus began the period that would latter be known as the "Dark Ages".

The magical sword Caliburn remained fixed firmly in the stone outside Londinium.

Its miracle was not realised, and was thus relegated to the realm of legend.

***


	2. Dreams and Prophecies

_August, 482 CE_  
  
  
  
Merlin was standing at the top of a mountain shrouded in mist. The razor-sharp rocks that covered the entire surface of the ground disappeared into the haze only a dozen yards away. A cold wind swept across the mountaintop and made him shiver. He looked around, trying to determine his surroundings through the thick wall of fog surrounding him, but to no avail.  
  
Then, as he stepped forward, intending to make his way downhill regardless of the poor visibility, the surreal and eerie silence was suddenly broken by violent roars of inhuman origin. The mist parted to reveal two giant beasts engaged in a ferocious fight to the death. The beasts were dragons – one of them white like the snow, the other scarlet red. Two dragons were locked in an endless and desperate struggle until the red dragon finally emerged victorious, its opponent reduced to a lifeless mass of burned flesh and its formerly snow-white scales dyed vermilion with the beast's own blood. Merlin watched in amazement as the scarlet dragon suddenly spread its wings and took off. The gale it produced by flapping its wings was so strong he had to drop to the ground and hold onto the rocks with all his strength in order not to be blown away by the hurricane-level winds.  
  
Suddenly, the winds stopped. Once he rose to his feet, Merlin saw that the scenery had changed completely. He was now standing in the middle of a large meadow. Judging by the colour of the skies, it was only moments before the dawn. And then, just as suddenly and unexpectedly as before, the red dragon appeared in the sky, flying from the west. As it got nearer, Merlin realised it was also descending, and it made him uncomfortable. He wanted to run, but for some reason, his legs wouldn't listen to him – it's as if they were stuck in stone. The dragon was now only a few dozen yards away, but instead of attacking the defenceless Merlin, it just flew over his head and landed not far behind him.  
  
He turned around, only to see that the monster had disappeared and that a human shape was standing where the dragon should have been. The person's face was hidden in shadows and Merlin could not even tell whether it was a man or a woman or how old the person was. As he was trying to get a glimpse of the person's face, something else grabbed his attention, something he only just realised was there.  
  
The person was standing in front of a sword stuck in a large stone. The moment Merlin noted the stone and the sword, the mysterious person in front of him stepped forward towards the stone and pulled the sword out of it. In that instant, the sun rose over the horizon and a flood of bright light blinded Merlin. He raised his hand to cover his eyes, but the staggering light burned his retinas.  
  
  
The pain in his eyes woke Merlin up.  
  
'That dream again?' he thought as he raised his hand to cover his eyes. The rays of sunshine that were coming through the narrow gap between the curtains were certainly real this time, and they just so happened to land where his eyes were. Just his luck.  
Merlin removed his blankets and sluggishly rose to his feet. It was still early in the morning, but he knew that any attempts to try to go back to sleep would be futile; once he woke up, he could never fall asleep again until the end of the day, or if he was overtired. He stretched his limbs and yawned, and then started to walk around the room to shake off the sleepiness and stiffness in his body. He finally stopped in front of one of the windows, and after a short pause, spread the curtains and opened the window. He expected a flood of light to fill the room and had already raised his hand to cover his eyes, but the actual amount of light that came through the window was rather underwhelming.  
  
Apparently, those few rays of sunshine that landed on his eyes and woke him up were more or less all there was. The sky was overcast and only a few feeble rays of light managed to get through the small cracks in the clouds. After gazing absentmindedly at the gray skies and distant green fields, Merlin lowered his gaze and surveyed the courtyard beneath the window. The Pendragon castle was mostly empty, with only a few guards patrolling the castle walls and a lone blacksmith sorting out his tools in his shed in the yard. Cold wind was blowing from the east and the castle's banners were flying high, tightly fastened to the poles on top of the fort's numerous towers and wooden ramparts.  
  
Merlin fixed his eyes on one of the banners – the Pendragon standard was a red flag with a black dragon in its centre. King Uther adopted it along with the epithet “Pendragon” when he achieved an astonishing victory against the Saxons several years ago. According to Uther, he saw a falling star in the shape of a dragon on the night before the battle, and interpreted it as a sign from God. He had his army bear the dragon standard in the next day’s battle, and after he won, he gave himself a new name and made the dragon-banner his new royal standard.  
  
Merlin closed his eyes for a moment and let out a small sigh. The sight of the banners reminded him of his dream. It wasn’t the first time he had that dream. The vision of the two dragons and the sword in the stone had been occasionally plaguing his dreams for several years now. As the matter of fact, the first time he had that vision was only shortly before Uther Pendragon’s faithful battle against the Saxons. This vision wasn’t like his usual ones, which were flashes and glimpses of real events that were yet to come true; this one was clearly symbolical and mysterious. The first time he saw it, he was confused and unable to figure out its meaning no matter how much he tried. He had no problems understanding the second half of the vision, but the meaning behind the dragons, their fight, and the red dragon’s connection with the sword in the stone continued to elude him.  
  
And then, like a divine revelation, the meaning behind the vision was suddenly made clear. The news spread across the country like wildfire: king Uther had achieved a miraculous victory against the Saxon hordes and pushed them back to the sea. Merlin was in London when the news reached him, and the rumour that followed them was that the king was heading to London to have himself crowned as the High King of Britain. Naturally, Merlin was interested in seeing who this king Uther was. At the very least, he had to be a capable and charismatic commander if he had managed to win against the overwhelming Saxon forces, something you couldn’t really say for most warlords and dukes in Britain. Defeating the Saxons had already brought him some popularity among the people, and he would probably rally many more allies if he can keep winning and make use of the initiative he had gained by turning the tide of war in his favour. It was only natural for Merlin, who had spent the last 70 years or so supporting and helping countless different warlords and would-be kings in their quests to unite and rule Britain, to try to meet this aspiring young king who had just won the greatest military victory for the Britons in their long fight against the Saxons.  
  
Ever since he placed the sword Caliburn in the stone outside of London, Merlin had been searching for a leader worthy of the magic sword and its miracle. He spent decades traveling across the length and breadth of Britain, from Cornwall to Clyde Rock, trying to find a man he’d deem capable and worthy of uniting and ruling the country. Decades of political manipulations, alliances with the wrong people, back-stabbings and scheming, using his magic to give a certain warlord an extra push and advantage over the opponents, all in hopes that one of them would turn out to be able to rally the people and bring peace to the country.  
  
But each and every time, he would be disappointed. It never took him long to judge the character of a duke or a king he would ally himself with, and every time he could see that they were ruthless, power-hungry barbarians, many of them willing to sell their mothers for a few extra dominions. And every time, he’d ignore his better judgement and keep helping and advising them in hopes that they’d eventually become good kings and leaders worth following. He was only deceiving himself, of course, and he knew that. That’s why he never took any one of them to the stone and had them challenge the sword of selection. Because he already knew that they’d fail to pull it out, and that would also kill his own hopes. Still, he kept going forward regardless, clinging to his hope.  
  
When Uther Pendragon and his troops entered London triumphantly five days after the news first reached the city, Merlin was sure that his prayers had been answered. The battered but proud army was flying the red banner with a black dragon. Soldiers were cheering and shouting the name of their glorious leader: “Uther Pendragon”.  
  
Merlin felt excitement in his chest, the kind of which he hadn’t felt since he put that sword in the stone all those years ago. His vision was finally clear to him: the red dragon symbolized the Britons and Uther, who flew the dragon banner as his royal standard. The white dragon were the Saxons, who usually flew white banners and painted their shields white. Thus, Uther Pendragon, as the victorious red dragon, was destined to pull the sword out of the stone and unite Britain. Merlin’s visions always came true, and he was certain that his long quest was coming to an end. However, he didn’t let his new found hope get the better of him. He did not need another disappointment, no matter how unlikely it was.  
  
Merlin approached Uther after the coronation and was soon appointed as the king’s chief advisor. While the two men quickly forged a strong friendship, Merlin wasn’t as thrilled with their partnership as Uther was. Certainly, the young man was a talented general and a great warrior, there was no doubt about that. He was a good king, and his soldiers and subjects were loyal to him and respected him, but Merlin was aware that he wasn’t the exact kind of man he was looking for. Too many imperfections, too many human weaknesses, and a hot head meant that, even though he held the title of the High King and ruled over much of the island, he couldn’t unite all the people under his banner, or create a long-lasting legacy. For all his considerable strengths and talents, Uther was still a barbarian, whose great charisma only shined on the battlefield. Outside of it, he was just a particularly powerful and affluent warlord. Miles ahead of most others Merlin had encountered over the last few decades, yes, but still a barbarian. While he could always find a common topic of conversation with Uther and enjoyed the king’s company during the hunts or feasts, a certain sense of disappointment haunted Merlin every time he talked with his king about matters of state, or when he thought of the sword in the stone.  
  
He had actually taken Uther to the stone about a year after the coronation in London, more out of curiosity than anything else. The sword had a part of his mind and soul in it, so even if Merlin himself wasn’t 100% sure of his choice, the sword would definitely make only the right choice. As expected, Uther failed to pull the sword out. He reacted as all men in power would: at first he was in denial, then he was angry, and in the end he decided that he didn’t care.  
“I don’t need a magical sword to tell me if I’m the true king or not. I’ll rule Britain either way. You can keep you precious sword.”  
Merlin just shrugged his shoulders and said nothing. He wasn’t intending to leave Uther’s side just yet. He still believed that his vision would come true. They always did.  


***

  
  
A breeze of cold air snapped Merlin out of his thoughts. The morning was unusually cold for this time of year, and he was standing by the open window in nothing but a nightgown; a sure way to catch a cold. He closed the window, and with the last gaze before turning away he saw a lone rider approaching the castle by the main road.  
‘Must be a messenger for the king. Too bad the king’s not here.’  
In fact, it wasn’t just the king who was absent. The emptiness of the castle was almost tangible as Merlin walked down the hallway and descended the stairs that were leading to the main hall. After he got dressed, he realised he was in fact famished, having skipped dinner last night, and decided to scavenge for any food that might have been left over in the main hall or in the kitchen. He didn’t meet a single soul along the way, which would normally be very unusual even for this early hour.  
As he entered the main hall, a cloaked man stormed into the room through the main entrance, looking around intensely while trying to catch his breath. Just as Merlin was about to call him, the man turned in his direction and approached him.  
  
“Sir Merlin, I’ve got a message for you from king Uther.”  
  
Merlin knitted his eye-brows a little, surprised at the news.  
  
“A message for me?”  
  
“Aye, sire. King Uther requests your presence at his war camp.”  
  
“Why didn’t the king leave a message behind for me to join him as soon I return to the castle from my journey? Why is he requesting my presence this late?”  
  
“I do not know, sire. He did not say the reason for your summoning, just that you are to take your...ehm, ‘chemistry set’ were the words he used... and ride hastily to his camp outside the castle of Terrabil. He has arranged for a change of horses to be carried out on the halfway point of your journey, at Glastenning*, and you are to ride day and night in order to join him as soon as possible.”  
  
“I see...” said Merlin, frowning further.  
  
The king had set out on his campaign 10 days ago, taking every man he could find along with him, and marched tirelessly towards Cornwall all day and night. Merlin had returned a week ago from one of his journeys, only to find the castle empty and the king gone. While it _was_ starting to get a bit boring, he enjoyed the unusual peace and quietness of the castle, and was mostly spending the lone days reading, sorting out the king’s correspondence ( some of the letters from Uther’s vassals and allies were over a month old! – the king really wasn’t the most diligent and responsible person, that was for sure ), and gambling with the few guards that were left in the castle for minimal protection.  
And suddenly, Uther wanted Merlin to join him on the front lines, and to take his equipment with him. Something strange was afoot, he could sense it.  
  
He gave out a small sigh before talking to the messenger again.  
  
“Very well. I need to make preparations first, so in the meantime make yourself useful and fetch me a horse from the stables. And pack the supplies for me as well. Thanks to you, I’m skipping breakfast.”  
  
“Very well, sire, I’ll arrange for everything.”  
  
“Good. Where did you say the king had set up camp, again?”  
  
“At Terrabil, sire. 20 miles west of Caer Uisc*.”  
  
“Right. Off you go, then.”  
  
The messenger bowed and ran out of the hall to make the needed preparations for Merlin’s journey.  
  
“Dear, dear, you always find a way to inconvenience me, don’t you Uther?” Merlin sighed, shaking his head. After doing nothing for a week, this was quite a routine-breaker. A non-stop journey of over 120 miles; he _could_ make it in two days if he forces the horses to their limits. Hopefully the animals will survive.  
‘Well, better get prepared.’ he thought as he was climbing up the stairs and back to his room.  


***

  
  
Merlin checked if the belt which kept the bag with his equipment attached to the saddle was tightened enough. After making sure everything else was in order, he climbed into the saddle, fixed his feet in the stirrups and took the reins. The horse he was provided with was a good one; a strong black steed, well fed and fresh, and apparently eager for a gallop. Merlin noticed that and grinned a little. What awaited this horse was more than just a good gallop – he had to cross quite a distance over the course of merely two days; such a journey was bound to take a huge toll on both the horse and its rider, but at least Merlin wasn’t the one who’ll have to do the running.  
  
“After this journey, my friend, I think you’ll have enough running for the next few months.” he whispered into the horse’s ear as the guards opened the castle gates.  
  
“Go, boy!” Merlin shouted, forcing the horse into gallop. The animal responded instantly, letting out a brief but loud “neigh” before running through the castle gates, across the bridge over the defensive moat and down the road at full speed.  
  
Fields, streams, forests and lonely cottages flew by Merlin’s eyes in a haze of green, blue and brown. The horse slowed down from its high-speed gallop after a few miles, but it kept running at a considerable speed, in part due to Merlin’s relentless use of reins that made the horse keep its pace for seven hours straight. After a short breather by a small lake, during which he pretty much annihilated his entire food supply for the journey while the horse kept drinking without a pause, he continued his trip and didn’t stop until he reached Glastenning late in the evening. There he switched horses and immediately continued his journey, rather than resting in the town a bit. However, he had overestimated himself; fatigue caused by the long and exhausting journey finally caught up to him an hour after he left Glastenning and forced him to take a rest in the forest.  
  
Taking off the boots to ease the pain in his legs, Merlin cursed Uther for forcing him to embark on this journey in the first place. He took a sip of wine from his small leather flask and gave out a long sigh. He wasn’t grateful to his king for dragging him across half the country for such a ridiculous reason.  
  
‘Honestly, I never thought I’d see someone go to war over a woman. It’s like those Greek poems, only much less epic and much more stupid.’ he mused to himself.  
Indeed, the military campaign that Uther Pendragon had initiated was caused by a woman. She wasn’t just any woman, but of the rare kind that made men go crazy after her to the point where they were willing to gamble their entire kingdoms and the lives of their men in a game to win her for themselves.The fair lady’s name was Igraine, and she was the wife of Gorlois, Duke of Cornwall.  
  
Gorlois was one of Uther’s vassals and most trusted allies. Two lords had fought side-by-side for six years, ever since Uther achieved his great victory against the Saxons. Eight months ago, Uther was invited to the New Year’s feast at Gorlois’ castle of Tintagel. During the banquet the High King had laid his eyes on Gorlois’ wife, lady Igraine, and not without reason, for she was elegant, noble, eloquent and gorgeous; it wasn’t only Uther who was mesmerized by her beautiful emerald eyes. The king couldn’t help himself; a strong desire to make this fair lady his own started to burn in his heart, and from that moment on, he was driven by this newly born passion.  
  
Ever since that day, Uther and Gorlois were regular guests at each other’s courts, mostly on Uther’s initiative. Uther and Igraine spent lots of time together, and she soon fell in love with the handsome and dashing High King. However, while she didn’t have any romantic feelings towards her much older husband, she was still loyal to him, for her nobility and pride didn’t allow her to break a promise she gave to her husband when they married, even if the marriage was not of her own choice.  
  
And then, two weeks ago, the secret relationship between the king and his ally’s wife came to an abrupt end. A feast was being held at the castle Pendragon, and Gorlois and his wife were also present. Uther, who had grown very impatient in regards to his relationship with Igraine, had consumed one goblet of wine too many ( though, truth be told, so had just about everyone else at the feast ) and somehow his cheerful conversation with Gorlois turned into a bitter argument which ended with Uther unsubtly hinting that his vassal’s wife wasn’t completely loyal to him, but had instead given her heart to him. The awkward situation ended in Gorlois’ fury, and he left the castle along with his retinue on the first light of the next day. Before he left, he declared his oath of allegiance to the High King void, and everyone sensed that a war between the king and his former ally was merely a matter of time.  
  
It didn’t take long for Uther to take action; two days after the quarrel he had already assembled his troops end set out on a forced march towards Gorlois’ realm.  
  
Merlin, who was absent when these unfortunate events took place, was angry at his king’s rash decisions and inability to control his temper, but he was also angry at himself for not being there in the hour of need; if were he present at the feast he would have restrained his king and prevented all this from happening. He was extremely furious when he heard the reason as to why the king was absent and the castle empty when he returned from his trip.  
  
And right now, he was playing Uther’s lap dog, traveling day and night across the country to reach the king’s camp as soon as possible, without even being told the reason why. Too exhausted to swear at his irresponsible king, Merlin leaned against a nearby tree and closed his eyes. Even if it’s only for an hour, he needed some sleep.  


***

  
  
The sun was setting when Merlin finally reached Uther’s camp outside Terrabil. His horse was completely exhausted and looked like it could collapse at any moment, and Merlin himself wasn’t in a much better condition either. His first order of business after getting past the guards was to find someone to take care of the horse and get some food and water. After he had taken care of his stomach and the animal, he started to search for the king. He found him in the front lines, talking to the commander of the archers.  
  
Terrabil castle was a formidable fort, situated on an isle at the confluence of two rivers flowing from the south. It was located along the main road leading into Cornwall, and as such served both as an important trading post and a strategic military point that effectively controlled the main point of entry into the realm. Vast open moorlands stretched for many miles to the south of Terrabil and to the north lay a huge swamp, forcing any invading forces to take a long and exhaustive roundabout way if they wanted to get into Cornwall by avoiding the fort. To put it simply, Terrabil was the key to Cornwall, which is why Uther had little choice but to lay siege on the castle if he wanted to win this war.  
  
The field to the east of the castle gates was turned from a beautiful green meadow into a huge military camp, full of tents, shacks, war machinery and the area nearest to the castle was criss-crossed with trenches and stockades. Several ballistae and onagers were firing their missiles at the castle. Wave after wave of flaming arrows was launched at the wooden ramparts and the castle gates, but the defenders kept putting out the fires before they could do serious damage to the castle defences.  
  
However, despite the defenders’ best efforts, after five days of siege the combined might of Uther’s siege artillery and archers was taking a visible toll on the fortifications of Terrabil. Gorlois’ men had destroyed the wooden bridge over the river that served as the main barrier for the attacking army, but Uther had ordered a construction of a mole. The troops kept bringing in dirt and rocks to bridge the wild stream, unfazed by the enemy arrows as they constructed a protective canopy out of their shields. By the time Merlin had arrived to the battlefield, the mole was only a few feet away from the castle gates.  
  
But even though the siege was going in his favour, Uther did not seem to be particularly happy when Merlin found him. As he was approaching the king from behind, he couldn’t see his face, but his body language and the tone of his voice were those of the somewhat irritated and perturbed man.  
  
“What’s the trouble, old friend?” he said, slapping his king on the back as hard as he could. It was a little revenge on his friend for dragging him all the way here without bothering to at least tell him why. He knew it was petty, but he enjoyed it nontheless.  
  
“What-a...?” shouted Uther, greately startled by Merlin’s “greeting”. He had already reached for his sword, but stopped himself when he recognised his trusted friend.  
  
“Oh, it’s you Merlin. Thank God you’re here. I need you.”  
  
“I’m sure you do, but couldn’t you have at least told your messenger why is it that I had to suddenly ride across half the country, nearly killing both my horses?”  
  
“Now, now, don’t be angry. Do you think I’d call for you if it wasn’t very important?”  
  
“It wouldn’t surprise me at all, really.” Merlin muttered to himself.  
  
“What was that?”  
  
“Nothing, nothing.”  
  
Uther was a capable, strong king and a good friend, but he occasionaly had bursts of foolishness ( one of which caused this entire conflict with Gorlois ) and great immaturity. Although it was unlikely to happen in _this_ situation, he often tormented Merlin with requests one could only deem pointless or childish. They weren’t to _Uther_ , of course, and he often gave the impression he wasn’t even aware that what he was asking of his friend was weird or stupid.  
  
“You look exhausted Merlin. Let’s get away from here and get something to eat. And drink.”  
  
“I already ate. It was the first thing I did when I got here.” Merlin did not hesitate to make it clear where his priorities lied. Whatever it was that king wanted of him, it wasn’t on the top of the list. “But I won’t refuse a drink.”  
  
“Excellent. I can always count on you in that regard. Let’s go, then.”  
  
A few minutes later Merlin and Uther were sitting comfortably in the king’s tent and were sipping some wine. Uther had his guards and servants leave and the two men were left alone to their devices. After some hesitation, Uther spoke:  
  
“I guess it’s time I tell you why I sent for you.”  
  
“I’d say that time was when you dispatched your messenger, but that’s beside the point. So, what’s the issue here? Why did I have to bring my equipment with me? You now I’m not gonna blow any holes in that castle’s walls for you, so why have me bring it along?”  
  
“I know, I know”, said Uther, sighing. His good mood from a few moments ago seemed to have vanished. The king was uneasy, clearly hesitant to tell Merlin what the reason for his summoning was.  
  
“Come on, man, speak!”  
  
“You’ll get mad at me.”  
  
“I’m already mad at you for dragging me all the way here, while I should have been lazing around your castle, sleeping ‘till noon, drinking your ale and robbing your guards of their last treasures.” Merlin replied cheerfully, taking another sip. “And besides, it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve bothered me with some foolishness of yours.”  
  
“This time it’s different.”  
  
“How so?”  
  
“It’s because of... her.”  
  
Merlin inadvertently rolled his eyes. Uther didn’t seem to notice.  
  
“Her? You mean Lady Igraine?”  
  
“Yes”  
  
“The woman over whom you started this whole bloody mess?”  
  
“Yes” Uther replied, somewhat agitated by Merlin’s choice of words.  
  
“The same woman whose husband you insulted and made angry two weeks ago, and made a mortal enemy out of one of your most trusted and most powerful allies?”  
  
“Yes, I know!” The king was now visibly upset.  
  
Merlin wanted to continue like this but he restrained himself and stopped. Uther knew he was right and Merin could see that. His loyal friend and advisor had been helping him expand and strengthen his kingdom for many years now, and he blew lots of that effort into smoke in a single night. And all that because he couldn’t control his drinking.  
  
“So what do you want from me?” Merlin asked after a brief silence.  
  
“Gorlois is in that castle right now, leading his men. But Igraine isn’t with him.”  
  
“Where is she, then?”  
  
“After they returned to Cornwall from my castle ten days ago Gorlois stayed in Terrabil to prepare the defences, while Igraine was sent to the castle of Tintagel at the coast. My spies told me that.”  
  
“So what’s the problem? Once you’ve sacked Terrabil and killed Gorlois, all you have to do is to proceed to Tintagel and Igraine is all yours.”  
  
“I wish it were that simple.” Uther said, frowning.  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“First of all, Tintagel is impregnable unless you cut it off from the sea as well as the land. And I don’t have any ships.  
  
Secondly, even if we were to breach the castle, Gorlois must have given orders to his men to make sure Igraine dies before I can take her. He said something like that when he left, and I have no doubt he’d sooner kill her with his own hands rather than let _me_ have her.”  
  
“So what do you want me to do?”  
  
Uther emptied his cup and started to walk around the tent.  
  
“I want her Merlin. I’ve never been so passionate about a woman in my whole life.”  
  
Merlin said nothing and just stared at his reflection in the wine.  
  
“I can’t let Gorlois have her. Not after coming this far. I’d look like a weak fool in the eyes of the entire kingdom if I were to just leave now.”  
  
“So how do you plan to get her? You said yourself that Tintagel is impregnable. How do you intend to snatch her away?”  
  
“That’s what I need you for. I already have an idea.”  
  
“Let’s hear it then.”  
  
“I want to personally infiltrate Tintagel.”  
  
“What? How? What do you plan to accomplish?”  
‘And what do I have to do with it?’ was what he also wanted to ask, but he already had a gut feeling about that.  
  
“I want Igraine. Maybe I can take her with me, maybe not, but I want to spend at least one night with her.”  
  
“But how do you plan to get past the guards? Not to mention spend the entire night there, with the Duke’s wife, without anyone noticing?”  
  
“It’s simple really; I need you to disguise me as Gorlois with your magic.”  
  
Merlin already had a feeling something like this was coming. Uther was expecting his friend to attack or mock him for his request, but to his surprise, Merlin remained silent and absorbed in his thoughts. He was staring blankly at his cup, his mind wandering elsewhere. Having known him for six years, Uther knew that the wizard was contemplating a much deeper and more complex scheme than assisting his king in his love quest. Indeed, what haunted Merlin’s mind at the moment was an old dream, and an even older journey. Finally, he snapped from his thoughts and started to speak slowly:  
  
“Uther, do you remember the dream I told you about six years ago, when you became the High King?”  
  
“The one about the dragons and the sword in the stone? Sure I do. What of it?”  
  
“Do you also remember the prophecy I made in regards to that dream?”  
  
“That I was destined to pull the sword out and rule Britain? Yeah, I remember that too.” The king grinned a little. “Still disappointed it didn’t work out quite the way you thought it would? No need to be ashamed, everybody makes mistakes, prophets are no exceptions.”  
  
“True, but I don’t think my prophecy was completely wrong. My visions always come true, I’m sure this one will too. My dream wasn’t wrong, what was wrong must have been my interpretation of it.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“The red and the white dragon, the sword... I thought you were the red dragon from my dream, but I was wrong about that. However, I firmly believe that a person of Pendragon blood is destined to pull out that sword. Even if you failed, one of your heirs must succeed.”  
  
“I believe you, my friend, and I hope your words come true. But what does that have to do with my wish?”  
  
Merlin frowned, took a sip from his cup and put it down on the small table in front of him. This wasn’t the first time he was to use his magic to help an ambitious warlord with their wishes. He had been doing so ever since a certain Roman general approached him. However, this time it was different. This time, he felt, he could actually do something worthwhile. He continued:  
  
“I have a feeling about this whole thing.”  
  
“What kind of feeling?”  
  
Merlin was still hesitant to spill the beans. He rubbed his fingers against his temples.  
  
“If I help you, and you have your night with Igraine, will you promise me one thing?”  
  
“Whatever you want, my friend. A night with her is more valuable to me than my whole kingdom.”  
  
Biting his tongue to refrain from commenting on the foolishness of such a sentiment, Merlin said:  
  
“Should you and Igraine conceive a child on that night, promise me you’ll make that child your successor.”  
  
Uther stopped walking around the room and got back into his seat. He was frowning too.  
  
“I don’t mind, on the contrary, but you do know that Igraine is barren? She hasn’t been able to bear children ever since the birth of her first and only child, her daughter. Gorlois has been unhappy about that for years – he reproached her for failing to provide him with an heir. She told me that.”  
  
“I will take care of that. You just promise me.”  
  
“Very well, Merlin.” Uther said, his mood suddenly greatly improved. The prospect of Igraine, the woman of his dreams, giving birth to his successor must have pleased him almost as much as Merlin’s willingness to assist him in getting to spend the night with her. “I give you my word as the king, that if a child is conceived on my night with Igraine, I shall make him an heir to the throne of Britain.”  
  
“Then it is settled.” Merlin replied. “I shall make the neccessary preparations.”  
  
“Do it, and make it quick. Unfortunately, we’ve been unable to completely encircle the castle. There’s still plenty of space for the defenders to escape, and should Gorlois retreat to Tintagel before we get there, our plan is doomed to failure.”  
  
“It won’t take long, I just have to get my... ‘ _chemistry set’_.”  
  
“Ah, so he told you I said that? Pretty good, huh?”  
  
“My king, your humour is too much for the common mind to comprehend and appreciate.”  
  
“I know you’re mocking me, Merlin. Come on, off you go!”  
  
“Yes, sire.”  
  
Merlin gave a small bow and left the king’s tent.

  
***

  
  
In the middle of the night, two riders left the camp of Uther Pendragon’s army, heading south. After reaching the edge of the moor, they turned west and soon disappeared into the thick forests of Cornwall. At dawn, Uther’s army launched a direct assault on the castle, as per king’s orders. The scouts reported that reinforcements were coming to aid Gorlois in his defence of Terrabil, and Uther couldn’t afford to waste any more time taking the fortress. Besides, even if the attack is unsucessful it would at least serve as a distraction for Gorlois, allowing Uther and Merlin to reach Tintagel safely, not having to worry about Igraine’s real husband suddenly showing up.  
  
The castle of Tintagel lay 30 miles to the west of Terrabil as the crow flies. The ground distance that the two riders had to cover was almost two times longer. Forcing their horses to run for hours on end, they managed to complete their journey in a day. As the dawn of the next day approached they found themselves on the edge of a forest only a mile away from their destination.  
“Time to stop for a moment my king.” Merlin said and dismounted. Uther followed suit.  
  
Merlin took the bag with his equipment off his horse and unpacked its contents on the ground in front of Uther, who had seated himself on a nearby log. The sight of numerous bottles filled with liquid, teeth, horns, hair and various strange instruments amused Uther. He always admired his friend’s unique talent, and no magic trick was too simple to amuse him.  
  
“So, what are you planning to do?” he asked his wizard.  
  
“Well, thanks to my blood, I can shape-shift as I please. Transforming _you_ , however, will be a much more difficult task. If it’s only for an hour or so, I could do it with no extra help. But to turn you into Gorlois for a whole day requires a catalyst. I need something to channel and bind my power inside your body. Here, drink this.” Merlin said, giving Uther a small bottle filled with crimson red fluid.  
  
Uther took a sip and started coughing violently immediately after swallowing it. Merlin quickly took the bottle back to prevent him from spilling the rest of the liquid on the ground.  
  
“Be careful! That stuff is incredibly rare and difficult to get, you know!”  
  
“What the hell was that?! I thought it will burn through my throat!”  
  
Merlin grinned a little.  
  
“Dragon blood.”  
  
“What?!”  
  
But Merlin had already proceeded to the second phase of this “ritual”. He took out a huge tooth out of a leather purse and made a deep cut on the palm of his right hand.  
  
“What the hell are you doing?” Uther asked, bewildered.  
  
“I’m going to give the potential future heir of yours a little gift. I’ll make the name Pendragon into something more substantial than just a fancy title you took after your victory. Give me your right hand.” Merlin said, not letting go of the tooth. Uther could already guess what kind of tooth it was. He held out his hand hesitantly.  
  
Merlin grabbed it and quickly made a long cut on the palm with the tooth, just like he had on his own hand. Blood covered the entire palm of his hand in a second.  
  
“Gha...!”  
  
“Shut up now and take my hand!” said Merlin, reaching with his right hand, in which he was now holding the dragon’s tooth.  
  
As soon as Uther took his hand, Merlin started to perform his magic. He was muttering strange and incomprehensible words with great speed, and the only word Uther managed to catch from the long incantations was “ _draco_ ”. Their blood mixed as they kept holding each other’s hands, and after a minute, the ritual was over. Uther could see that the wound on his arm had healed, as if it was never there to begin with. Merlin’s hand, though, was still bleeding, so he bandaged it with some cloth.  
  
“Why is your hand...” Uther started, but the intense pain in his head prevented him from finishing the sentence.  
  
“Easy now. The transformation is complete, but you’ll continue feeling the after-effects for a few more hours. We’ll use that – we’ll deceive the guards at the castle by saying that you’ve fallen sick during the siege and have returned to Tintagel to rest until you get better. I am one of your soldiers, and there’s no one else accompanying you because you didn’t want to weaken the defences at Terrabil by taking away any more troops. Got all that?”  
  
“Hmmm” Uther nodded. His vision was blurry.  
  
“Good. Dawn is breaking, and we’re only a mile away from Tintagel. It means you have plenty of time to spend with your beloved Igraine, but by the next dawn, we have to be out of the castle, or else our lives are forfeit. I can use my powers to deceive the guards while you spend time with Igraine, but if they see Uther Pendragon in their lord’s castle, not even my hypnosis would be enought to stop the from chopping our heads off. Understand?”  
  
“Y-yes.”  
  
“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything. You just stay in Gorlois’ chambers and play sick. Enjoy your night with the woman of your dreams and be ready to leave quickly in the morning. Now, let’s go, my king! Your beloved Igraine waits for you!”  
  
Merlin packed his equipment and the two mounted their horses again.  
A quick jerk of the reins forced the animals into gallop. The tall grass that covered the field in front of them was shaking under the mild morning wind. The sun was rising behind their backs, its warm yellow light illuminating the ripply surface of the sea and the great fortified castle on the cliff – Tintagel.

 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Glastenning = Glastonbury  
> Caer Uisc = Exeter  
> It is my wish to make this fic as historically accurate as possible, and since I'm going to screw history soon enough with the concepts of chivalry ( that was invented during the High middle ages, probably around 11th/12th century ), I might as well minimize damage elsewhere, so I'm trying to use the names these places could/would have had before the Saxons took over the entire country.
> 
> \- This chapter involved a lot of exposition, backstories and narration, and very little plot. Unfortunately, this chapter is pretty important in the grander scheme of things ( especially for Merlin's character ) and I couldn't just skip it and go straight to Arturia's birth. Writing all those scenes that were narrated would have made this chapter at least three times longer, and that was something I didn't want to do. This is primarily a Saber-centric story, and Merlin will play a large role as it is. I can't write his entire life-story just to avoid expository narration; in that case I might as well make a whole fic just for him.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, dear readers.
> 
> This is a pet project of mine that I wanted to do ever since I read the Fate series ( which wasn't really that long ago, actually ).  
> I've always liked the legend of King Arthur in its numerous different incarnations and retellings, and Nasu's version is probably my favourite. What can I say, I like strong female characters and I found the spin that Nasu put on the legend and the character of Arthur by changing the king's gender to be very intriguing. "The King's Memories" chapters very some of my favourite parts of F/SN, and I thought it'd be neat to tell the whole story of Arturia's childhood and kingship.
> 
> Yes, the idea is far from original, to say the least. Yes, we already know the most important bits and how it ends. I am fully aware of all that.  
> But my intention with this project was not to create something completely new and original - this is my first major and serious attempt at writing fiction ( there were others but those will never leave my hard disk ). My intent with this story is to hone my writing skills while further exploring the Nasuverse version of the legend. Since the basic plot is already set, I will focus on further developing characters - while the story will naturally be centred around Saber, the majority of development will actually go to the "supporting characters", primarily Merlin, Lancelot, Guinevere, Bedivere, Gawain, Morgan and Mordred.
> 
> While I intend to keep it as close to the established canon as possible, there will be some minor tweaks and changes, but nothing that would retcon or otherwise mess up canon. I think.
> 
> Well, hope you enjoy it!
> 
>  
> 
> Author's notes ( explanations ):
> 
> \- While my intention was to keep the setting as historically accurate as possible, there are things I had to sacrifice for the sake of the story.  
> At the time when these events ( Roman withdrawal from Britain ) took place, Londinium was already half-deserted and in a sorry state, far from being able to house half the Roman army. But I needed a proper setting for this whole chapter, and for the sword in the stone itself, and London was the most obvious choice.


End file.
